Others' Shame Is My Joy. What, you think you're better than me?

Well, you probably are.

Being home is sometimes hard. My friends are getting married, engaged, getting PhDs, and generally making something of their lives. I, on the other hand, have some good stories to tell, but that doesn't seem to mean a damn thing in NYC. I also manage to meet a cool-but-possibly-crazy dude, and in the wonderfully bizarro fuckery that is my life, he has left today for two weeks in AUSTRALIA.
Knowing my luck, he will come back with a fiancee. And she will be someone I know.

Anyhoo, this means that sometimes I go down a shame spiral. A slippery, dark spiral of shame that is lubricated with my mistakes--you know, like making out with married businessmen from Missouri on a Sunday evening. I mean, it's the Lord's day, for fuck's sake! I need to get it together!

But going down shame spirals isn't proactive. And what I did learn from my Oz time is how to cope with emotions in healthy ways,. Often, this involves watching Buffy DVDs or Arrested Development. Lately, it's involved the interwebs. In an effort to keep my head right, I'm making a list of things that I can turn to in times of crisis. I think these things could also be helpful to you, too, gentle readers. So here, I post....

Things That Make Me Feel Better About Myself
aka
Proof that I am Wretched and Spiteful

- The website Texts from Last Night. There are alot of people who do stupid, gross things--grosser and stupider than anything I'd ever do, sober or drunk.
Take, for instance, this gem: "(610): She was sucking his dick at Seacrets outside bar in front of all of us...her friends kept coming over crying and yelling "Tiffany stop it".
Poor Tiffany.....

There are others who took the words out of my very own texts:
"(479): okay I'm thinking he doens't have a facebook...I'm on page 28 of Hunters
(501): ok you need to stop NOW"

-F My Life. I think we've all seen this one, but it NEVER gets old.

- Why The Fuck Do You Have A Kid? Cause, quite frankly, most people should not be allowed to spawn. This site was brought to my attention as a result of this post.

- MTV's show 16 and Pregnant.
No matter what happens, I will always be able to say that I'm NOT 16 and pregnant.
Note: sometimes this show will make you want to cry and vomit, as well as donate all your books to the uneducated.

-This youtube of teens freaking out of the trailer for the latest Twilight movie. At least I know I'm not this obsessed with the idea of a vampire boyfriend--although, to be fair, this clip was sent to me with the subject line: "Is this us?," so I very well could be.


I think my favorite is the young boy questioning his sexuality who says, "Ohmygod, Jasper has new hair!" in a breathy moan.

Blacktress Also Knows Good Food

You guys know how much I love to eat foodstuffs, right? Well, finally my tendency for sublimating emotions through food has come in handy in the form of restaurant reviews. Check out my contribution to Johnna Knows Good Food, a cool foodie blog written by a homegirl in DC that has giveaways, great recipes and bar and restaurant reviews. My review was of a great burger spot called Fergburger, located in Queenstown, New Zealand. My review is an excerpt from the still-in-progress Blackpacker Diaries, and I decided that even if I wasn't done, I had to spread the TRUTH about New Zealand burgers.

Seriously, I ate, like, 5 burgers in 2.5 days. It was gross--in a sexy, delicious way.

Awkward Moments

I thought structuring this as a film would really put you in the moment. I think it's also fitting because it's basically a deleted scene from 'He's Just Not That Into You.'

Interior, Bedroom. Night. Blacktress enters with a gentleman caller. She quickly removes items from her bed without turning on the light. Gentleman and Blacktress proceed to....um....physically express their emotions. Later, she turns on the light.
Close up on HER THIGHMASTER, which has been tossed onto the floor.

Gentleman Caller: Is that the Suzanne Sommers exercise thing?
Blacktress (trying to hide her embarrassment): Um, yes. Yes it is.
Gentleman Caller: Oh, that's cool. That means you work for your body. You probably appreciate my compliments then.



Thank you, Suzanne, for helping me create awkward moments.

The Day the Pop Music Died.

Um, Michael Jackson is very likely dead as I type this.

No, no, this is real. I just double-checked with TMZ, the gossip site that apparently has contacts at every major hospital and airport in LA and always knows when someone's ill or about to skip town. Here's the sobering news.

Wait, now CNN and LA Times say he's in a coma. I don't know what to believe. One news ticker even used the past tense, saying he was the King of Pop! I don't know if I can handle this!

I don't think I can live in a world without Michael Jackson.
I don't think I can even imagine a world without Michael Jackson.


He seems to have actually gotten enough. And now I'm sitting here, emotionally melting, like hot candle wax.
I need to know that I am not alone, that you are here with me. You and I must make a pact. We must bring salvation back. Where there is MJ, I'll be there.

I'm looking at the blacktress in the mirror, I'm asking her to change her ways, cause no message besides the death of Michael Jackson, could be any clearer.

I can only hope that he's still moon walking....with the man upstairs.

Sidebar: Does anyone else feel kinda bad for Farrah Fawcett? Homegirl got about 4 hours of attention and will now be eclipsed by the death of the biggest pop star in the world.

Harry Potter-- the Musical!!!!

This is the greatest thing I have ever seen. Many thanks to JJSiii.

I think my obsession is rekindled.

Mystery Science Theater

Guys, I'm in a bit of a pickle.

So, Wednesday night I had a "date" with a dude. Here are his vitals:
- 28 years old
- stand-up comedian
- former US Marine
- and a dating coach ("yes, like Hitch," he said in his email)

You see why I had to go out with this man. He's a total unicorn. No, wait, he's like a chimera. Or the Easter Bunny--he's fucking mythical and mystical and I can't handle it.

I went into it differently than I used to go into dates. Instead of thinking, "oh god, is he going to like me? oh god, what if he's disappointed?" the loop in my head was, "please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame." I liked this feeling. I had no doubt that I could hold up my end of the conversation, and that my baby blue Banana Republic top was working for me, but I couldn't vouch for this character. I was even quite annoyed, seeing as the plan was to check out his comedy show, then grab a drink afterwards. Was I really going to spend money to see this character? Luckily, the fee was nominal, and as a stand-up comedian myself, judging other comics brings me great joy.

I showed up, got my ticket, and sat inside the club, which was packed to the rafters with a total of 12 people.
Welcome to Awkward Town, population: ME.

He went on fairly early, and was actually pretty funny. After he performed, the next comedian came up and was like, "doesn't he look like Chandler Bing [Matthew Perry from Friends]?" I made a "wtf? no, not at all" face, and the comedian goes, "Dude, I'm about to get you laid by a hot black chick."

Shoot me now. Way to rock out on Date 1.

Unfortch, I had to sit through another 8 comics, only 2 of whom made me laugh out loud. One was a girl, and I sorta developed a friend-crush on her. After the show, I saw my "date" outside and the plan was to head to a bar with a few of the other comics (luckily my girl-crush was there). It was very casual, which actually made me feel more comfortable. As we walked to the bar, I demanded he tell me everything about dating coaching.

It turns out he was recruited by Mystery. THE Mystery, from VH1's "The Pick-Up Artist." Tell me you remember this show? Just in case, why don't I take your memory for a jog:

Mystery is a 6-foot-5-inch Canadian magician/illusionist who has perfected the art of bedding women. It involves alot of acronyms and inside phrases. Here's a bit of Mystery in action:




The man is an evil egomaniacal genius, and I am kind of obsessed with him.
I think he may have herpes--the gift that keeps on giving.

So, I was slightly giddy and starstruck, trying to get my "date" to tell me everything about Mystery and the process. As this is all happening, we're alternating between chatting with his comedy friends and doing our own thing. He keeps telling me how pretty I am and we're trading banter and being ridiculous. I don't like the idea of dating comedians, and found that to initially be more of a turn off than the dating coaching, because I feel like it's too much manic energy and neuroses put together. I also think that nothing could be worse than running into a guy who you dumped, or who dumped you, all around Manhattan in performance settings. Especially when your performance largely involves true stories of your own dating life.

This is one of the reasons I only date men in outer boroughs.

On the other hand, it's the ability to laugh for 4 hours straight and his ability to roll with every punch I throw (both literally and conversationally) that makes comics fun to hang out with and easy to crush on. I'm on the fence with this whole situation, and it's something I'm still sorting out, and I know that there are exceptions to every rule.

Anyway, throughout our good fun time, I couldn't help but think, "Shit, is he playing me Mystery-style?" I mean, I was actually nervous before we kissed--there were veritable butterflies, I tell you! That's crazy town. I mean, he doesn't even have red hair. How did he get me all in a tizzy?

When I got home, I was disheartened to get no "hope you got home safe/i had fun tonight" text message, and began to write him off. Yesterday afternoon I got a text that hinted at a second meeting. After waiting a cool, hip 30 minutes to reply, I AM STILL WAITING FOR A RESPONSE FROM HIM!!

Damn you, Mystery!!!

As I psychoanalyzed this via gchat with my one heterosexual male friend, he said, "Sojourner, you can't make him like you. You may be a blacktress, but you can't control every situation."

But the thing is, HE can make ME like HIM. This is the problem. He is a trained professional in the art of getting me to drop my panties. How do I handle this?!

Although he told me all about how he doesn't teach the same method with all those acronyms, and says he's looking for something more than a bar shag, how do I not know that's not more Mystery-approved dialogue?! Although we had a great time and he's super fun and I totes want to hang out again, will showing my interest simply make him think he has me? I feel like I have to play harder to get than I normally would just to put him in his place. According to Mystery, if all goes well, I should be naked by date 2 or 3. Clearly, I will not fall for these tricks.

Or will I????

I can't decide if I'm buying myself a ticket to the Shit Show, or to Ringling Brothers--The Greatest Show on Earth!

Am I getting a one-way ticket to Sadtown or Idiot Village? What about Unexpected Pregnancy Township? Maybe I'm getting a roundtrip ticket from Sanity City to Hot Mess Country, but I'll make it back to Sanity City before too much damage is done.

Who AM I and how do I find these people?

Blackpacker Diaries: Bend it Like Barker

Tuesday Night, 10 March 2009

I got my Arj Barker tickets, which is quite exciting. For those of you who aren’t obsessed with Flight of the Conchords, Arj plays their friend Dave, who constantly gives them bad advice and has the best deadpan ever. I hadn’t heard of him before FOTC, but I am so into him. He’s also all over the Australian scene, and every Aussie knows who he is—why hadn’t he made it onto my American comedy radar before now? Oh god--Is he Canadian???
No, not possible.
Clearly I needed to see him in the flesh so I could get some answers.

Unable to get a ticket for Arj with Justin on Sunday, I got one for the Tuesday show. One of the things I like about rolling solo is that I don’t have to check-in before making decisions, or worry about whether or not my companion wants to spend the money for such-and-such activity. It’s also really easy to get last-minute tickets to things when you only need one seat, allowing me to be all free and spontaneous and very “Eat Pray Love” about the whole thing. I ended up in the 8th row, with only 2 people seated next to me. One was a surly teen and the other was obviously his mother. While most people who’d came together were chatting it up pre-show, the three of us sat silently, with the son way too cool to talk to his mom and her way too awkward around her son’s changing body to strike up a conversation. To an outsider we probably looked like a dysfunctional family, with me playing the role of their Sudanese refugee adoptee.

It was a mixed crowd, all ages, and definitely touted as PG. Everyone from teens to 30-somethings were there, and the place was chockers. How do they all know him????? I wondered as the placed filled up. I was excited to see him do more than hilarious one-liners, and also am really into seeing solo shows, so I can take notes and figure out how to write my own one-blacktress show. Arj was hilarious. After being greeted with huge applause, he began.
“Hey guys, I’m gonna start with a riddle. Are you ready?”
More clapping.
“So, how many gold medals do you have to win in order to enjoy a relaxing bong hit at a friend’s house?”

He’s too hilarious. He then went off on Michael Phelps, and had the crowd dying. He also tackled such issues as global warming (“Have you ever wondered if it’s not the Earth’s fault, but the SUN? Maybe it’s just too hot.”), and the African pirates. My favorite line was probably, “OK, maybe I’m crazy, but I’ve always assumed that if something has been turned into a ride at Disney World, and then a movie with Johnny Depp, it is no longer a real-life threat.”



Sweet, sweet, Arj, you make so much sense to me. I can’t wait for us to make hot Afro-Middle-Eastern babies. Can you imagine how hot that’d be? That baby would be on America’s Next Top Model.

I wanted to tell him this after the show, when he was standing outside selling some CDs, but I got scared. I was intimidated by his funny and thought he’d be uninterested in me trying to talk comedy and subtly brainwash him. I should have bought an effin’ CD, which would have totes made him love me, but I had no money-cash-hos on me, so I just scurried away, consoling myself with the knowledge that we’d one day have America’s Next Top Baby.

Tomorrow I start my 6-day/5-night Groovy Grape bus tour that will take me from Adelaide, at the very bottom of South Australia, all the way to Alice Springs, at the bottom of the Northern Territory. We will travel a total of 1,600 kilometers through the red desert, visiting Coober Pedy, the opal capital of the world, Uluru (aka Ayers Rock), one of Australia’s greatest icons, and Kings Canyon and the Olgas. Apparently, I will be sleeping on the ground and expected to hike. I am really excited, but also scared that I’ll be the slow girl, slowing down the crew with my inability to move quickly.

Perhaps I should have invested in hiking boots.

Or, you know, at least developed some stamina at some point in my life.

Okay, I’m off to bed. It's only 10pm, but I think I need to rest up for this.